


in the air tonight

by elliotstabler



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angry Olivia, Divorced Elliot, F/M, Season 8, Smut, Sort of AU, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29442873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliotstabler/pseuds/elliotstabler
Summary: He's everything she starves herself of.
Relationships: Olivia Benson/Elliot Stabler
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	in the air tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! This one shot is a bit of an AU; Elliot and Olivia have never actually met but it takes place during season 8. Thank you to the 'horny hoes' and the 'clean teens' who helped me out with this one, lord knows I am a hellion to deal with when I'm fired up about an idea. Based on in the air tonight by Phil Collins. Enjoy!

_It's the first time, the last time we ever met_

_But I know the reason why you keep this silence up_

_No you don't fool me_

_The hurt doesn't show, but the pain still grows_

_It's no stranger to you and me_

* * *

By the time she spots him, she's two beers deep.

When she comes to a bar to sulk, she picks a corner table, preferably as dark and secluded as she can get. Sometimes men will get brave and approach her, but she can flash one look and they are turning on their heels and fucking off to wherever they came from.

Tonight she didn't come to sulk.

Tonight she feels dangerous.

Her black trench coat is draped over the back of her chair, and in her head, it should serve as a warning to anyone who comes near her. She isn't in the mood for a man who wavers or takes the back seat when it comes to pleasure. The red sweater she's wearing cuts low enough that anyone who sits next to her will get a good look at the ample cleavage she is offering up. Her dark jeans and knee-high boots are just a bonus for anyone lucky enough to see her stand up.

She's had eight years in SVU. It's taught her a lot. She's made a list of places in New York she will never go to again, and adversely, places she will patronize for as long as they stay open. People in this city have shown her the very best and the very worst of humanity.

Yet she continues. Quitting has never been her strong suit.

Today she said goodbye to her partner of eight years. Monique had trained her, taught her everything she knows. They fought rarely; they worked well together and were loyal to each other. Olivia had even taken to interrogating the men she would date, and Mo would roll her eyes.

The FBI had offered Monique a job on an elite task force working with the Child Abduction Rapid Deployment team. They talked it over, and although it killed her inside, Olivia told her to take the job. It only took her 48 hours to decide.

She is fine, she tells herself. She's always been alone. Having Monique in her life for as long as she was had been a blessing. She couldn't ask her to stay longer and draw out her tenure at SVU just for a friend.

On Monday she will have to train some kid to replace her best friend, and that thought alone has her draining the remainder of her beer and ordering a third.

The bar is more crowded now than when she had walked in a little while ago. A fresh beer is slid in front of her, and she feels eyes on her. It's not entirely unfamiliar, especially in this type of setting. She's used to the attention, and tonight she's betting on it to give her a little time to forget about the world.

She looks up from the amber bubbles that fill her glass. The eyes that are on her are at the corner of the bar, dark and seductive and locked solely on her. His gaze sends a thrill through her veins, and something inside of her tells her that this man is anything but ordinary.

She takes in the leather jacket on his chair, the way he holds his posture like he knows he's fit, but he isn't arrogant about it. Confident yet not too cocky. There's a light bruise and a cut on his eyebrow, and his knuckles are a bit red, though she suspects whoever gave him the cut is much worse off than he is.

His lips curl up into a hint of a smile. He makes no move to switch seats and take the empty one to her right.

She's not moving. Men come to her, not the other way around.

There's a familiar dominance in how he carries himself. She wonders what he does for a living, if that's how he got the marks. He's placed himself in a spot in the bar that wouldn't allow for too many people to be behind him, and the dark ink insignia on the inside of his forearm tells her that perhaps he's military or something similar to her line of work.

He isn't the typical type she hooks up with.

The men she finds herself in bed with are easily subdued. Somewhere deep in her subconscious she seeks out men who, based on their personality and demeanors, aren't threatening, or they physically are simple to overpower. A part of her always needs to be in control.

He's everything she starves herself of.

When he finishes his beer, his tongue darts out to erase the froth that's gathered on the corner of his lip. He watches her as he does it and makes sure she's watching him. She can't look away. She's transfixed by the man whose name she doesn't even know, who has the blood flooding south in her body just from the suggestive way he licks his lips.

He crooks a finger and coaxes her to come meet him across the bar.

Olivia rolls her eyes at him and sits back in her seat, feeling the heat rising beneath her sweater. Anticipation rolls through her. She drums her nails on the solid wood bar top, and a surge of confidence filters through her when the man stands up from his seat and makes his way over to her.

When he's standing in front of her, she sees the dark blue eyes all too clearly. She can see now he's probably around the same age as her, and as he leans into her ear, she doesn't smell any outlandish colognes. He smells of aftershave, soap, and a hint of the beer he'd finished.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" His deep rumble makes her swallow hard. His voice is just as desirable as the sight in front of her. She's in trouble, and she knows it. The command in his voice isn't lost on her either.

Her laugh is low, mirthless. "And if I did?" She has to challenge him. She needs to know if he's up for the battle of taking her home and giving her pleasure.

He pulls back just enough to look at her, and his eyes move agreeingly over the planes of her face. "Guess you'll have to buy your own drink then," he rasps. She likes the way he looks at her mouth, and she watches his as he speaks again. "I'm Elliot."

She doesn't offer her hand to shake. He'll have to earn it. "I'm Olivia," she replies, taking another draw of her beer.

Elliot makes an appreciative sound at the back of his throat. "So Olivia," he starts. "What drink am I _not_ buying you?"

* * *

He knows she's a cop the second he's in front of her. She plays it close to the chest, protects that part of her identity. He gets the need to shield civilians from it, and in turn, shield herself from civilians. Sometimes the age-old questions unintentionally cross lines.

_Have you ever killed anyone?_

Sometimes he lies and says no. Others, he tells the truth, just to shut the people up who ask. If they're interested beyond that point it's typically a red flag. Regular people aren't fascinated by murders outside of the fictional realm. The very real prospect of death at the hands on another should draw out fear.

In the next few minutes he reconciles that she's a detective. He doubts she outranks him. She's ambitious but not completely reckless. Regardless, he deduces she is probably a few years younger than him. College educated, well spoken.

When he asks her what she does for a living as a test, she lies.

"I'm a lawyer," the lie falls from her lips almost too easily. "You?"

It's his turn now. "Accountant." He doesn't even make the lie sound convincing. Olivia cocks her head to the side and flashes a smile that makes his jeans instantly a little tighter. She doesn't believe him. He doesn't believe her.

Another cop characteristic.

"Accountants don't have Glocks hidden underneath their shirts," Olivia chides, pointing her index finger down to the outline of his service weapon tucked beneath his light grey sweater.

He laughs once and then points to her jacket. "Lawyers don't have detective shields in their pocket," he retorts, and the feeling of feeding her back her own bullshit has adrenaline flowing through him.

A slight blush rises in her cheeks, and she bites her lower lip to keep herself from laughing. She gazes up at him through her heavy bangs, and the look in those dark eyes has his mind wandering, thinking of the closest place he could drag her back to and fuck her senseless. She's intriguing and charismatic, with just enough mystery hidden in her that he's grappling for the opportunity to keep the conversation going.

Olivia takes a short pull of beer. "What unit?"

He watches her reaction closely when he tells her. "Brooklyn SVU," he says, and to his surprise, her chin tips upward knowingly, emphatically.

"Manhattan SVU," she answers his unasked question.

"Huh," Elliot muses. "What are the chances?"

* * *

In her time as a cop, she's gotten pretty good at reading people.

She can see the tan line from where a ring used to be on his finger. It's not just off for the night, she deduces. This was permanent. When she flirts with him, he instinctively runs his thumb along his ring finger, as if he's reminding himself that he's married, only to remember he isn't.

His attraction to her is palpable.

And mutual, in the way she's attracted to him.

There is an intrinsic trust they share. It's a bond not only based on their shared uniform, but the specific type of unit they work for.

She's calculated the risks of taking him home. Elliot doesn't seem to be the type to kiss and tell; in fact, she doubts he's much of a sharer at all when it comes to matters of the heart, of the soul. He probably compartmentalizes all of it, maybe not in the best ways. He's fit and obviously enjoys the relief he gains from working out. Other times he may choose to take justice in his own hands with his fists.

It's not something he goes out seeking or even instigating. They're trained to see the signs of aggression, the lead up to a physical fight — and sometimes he ignores them.

Tonight they don't talk about the job in detail. They don't ask about cops they may both know. The conversation flows easily without it.

"So why are you here alone?"

Even though the question is simple in nature, she dreads telling him the answer. For a moment she considers lying to him, but he's already called her on it once. They might as well be honest.

She wants him to know what her intentions are tonight.

"My partner just left the unit," Olivia sighs, drinking from her glass bottle again. "She's gonna be a Fed."

She turns to him, gauging his reaction and flicking her tongue out to lick her bottom lip. Elliot's throat bobs seeing the action, as if he's holding his breath to hold himself back from kissing her. He's close enough to her that he could just lean in and seal the deal, but instead he takes a moment to just watch her.

As if they've known each other all along. Her attention darts between his mouth and his eyes, and she catches herself smiling when his pupils dilate, and he slowly blinks. Elliot's warm breath is on her, heating her from the inside out.

She wants him.

_Bad._

He whistles appreciatively and raises his beer. "Here's to her."

* * *

His pulse thrums loudly in his ears when he steps into the elevator with Olivia.

At first he grips the guardrail behind him and tries to breathe. His eyes slowly drag up her body, and when he sees her dark, heated eyes, the remainder of his resolve snaps. Then he's using the momentum to push himself forward until he's only a few inches away from her.

"Been waiting to do this all night," he growls, his hands coming up to thread through her curls. His eyes are on her mouth, taking in the way she sucks in a breath to brace herself. His lips slant over hers, and he groans as she eagerly kisses him back.

Olivia bites down on his lower lip. He pushes her the last foot until her back hits gently against the elevator wall. The progression is quick then. His tongue delves into her mouth, and her hands stroke up from his chest to the nape of his neck, pulling him in and encouraging the way he so deliberately makes his plans known to her.

The elevator dings its arrival on his floor, and he barely takes his lips away from hers to guide them down the hall to his apartment door. She laughs when he fumbles for the keys, and it drives him wild with need. He kisses her again, effectively quieting her laughter when he turns the lock and nudges her inside.

Once the door is closed, he locks it and shoves her against the wood in the same smooth movement. He's quick to lose his shoes and leather jacket, but he can't get enough of her mouth. She's sweet and intense, and he can't help himself when he tastes her over and over.

Olivia makes the most incredible noises of encouragement, and when his mouth drifts down her cheek and to her neck, the immediate groan she gives him has his entire body pulsing. On sheer intuition, his knee makes its way between her legs, putting steady pressure on her heated core.

"Tell me you want this," he grunts.

She responds instantly, arching her chest off the door toward him. "Yes," she whispers, and then she's pulling him in again, her mouth hard over his. He pushes the jacket off her shoulders and listens to it drop on the floor.

Piece by piece they undress each other, and when Olivia is just in a navy blue bra and panties, he hauls her onto him, practically carrying her to the bedroom. He's thought about this exact moment a thousand times since he's met her tonight, and he simply cannot withstand any longer.

Elliot pushes her back onto his bed, but he only lets her stay alone for just one moment — he needs to savor this. She has to be the most all-around attractive woman he's ever met and having her here in his bed, wanton and willing and fucking waiting — it's something out of his wildest dreams.

She reaches for him, and he grins, crawling over her body to settle his hips between her legs. His own arousal is lashing at him, screaming to drive into her and take and take until he is met with the most intense, unabashed orgasm of his life. Something tells him it will be like this. That having her once will start a ricochet effect, and he will need her again.

Through the thick haze of his need, he sees olive skin. Strong limbs, supple breasts, the curves of her waist. Olivia won't disintegrate. She's capable, and her strength coupled with her physical skills as a fellow detective rival his own.

That last thought spurs him forward, driving his boxer-clad length against the warmth of her center.

"Elliot," she groans.

He has to make her say it again, he thinks.

If it's the last thing he does.

* * *

His mouth is talented, she'll give him that.

In all the time she's spent in the NYPD, she's never slept with a fellow officer. Monique had slept with someone from their unit years ago, and the relationship soured until the other detective left.

Even after all this time, she had maintained it was the best sex she had ever had.

_"There's something about both of you being cops. It's wrong in a way, but you can really unleash. Those boundaries disappear because the trust is already there but there's no relationship on top of it. Just pure, animalistic sex."_

She'll owe Monique a coffee for giving great advice.

Her bra is lost somewhere behind him. The rest of her clothes are strewn about his apartment in a trail leading to his bedroom. She doesn't care about the stereotypes that come with that. Not tonight. Not when Elliot is slowly pulling her panties down her thighs, his mouth latched to her nipple.

His tongue laves at the dark tip, circling, flicking. He's determined and focused and _Christ,_ it feels good. Her body jerks when his teeth graze across the sensitive nipple, and her nails dig into his back.

She's purposeful in the bedroom. If it's good, if it's really good, she'll leave marks on her lover. Teeth, scratches — anything that relieves the daunting pleasure he gives her.

Elliot leaves a wet trail down her stomach and disposes of her panties on the floor. She senses where he's going, and she braces herself, grabbing the duvet for support. With her lip trapped between her teeth, she locks eyes with him as he lowers his mouth to her core.

He swipes his tongue up the length of her, she hears the wet sound of her flesh in his mouth and sucks in a deep, hissing breath. "You think you're gonna get me off that easy?" she challenges, gasping every few words.

Elliot lets his lips fall away from her intentionally, instead kissing her inner thigh. "I'd believe you if you could speak clearly, Olivia." He bites her sensitive skin just once as a warning before speaking again. "What was that?"

She laughs, her hand finding the back of his head. "You're so—" Her speech is quickly cut off by him laving at her core once again. He prods and fucks her with his tongue, creating patterns and tempos that have her toes curling in the mattress. The pleasure builds and builds inside of her until she is at the crest, ready to freefall.

Elliot has other plans. He slows his pace, coaxing her back down a bit, and then back up. Again and again, he gets her so close; she feels her neck and chest getting slick with sweat.

"Beg for it," he growls into her skin.

A surge of wetness forms at the crux of her thighs at his words. She wants to deny him, to flip him over and tease him the way he's teasing her. The need and arousal win over all rational thoughts in her mind.

"Please," Olivia whimpers, licking her dry, desperate lips as she pants. "Elliot, please," her pleading seems to work when he goes back to her core. She feels her heartbeat everywhere.

He executes it all so perfectly. She's nearly at the top again, both of her hands on the back of his head now. Elliot takes her clit into his mouth and sucks, lapping quickly until she is crashing hard. Her body quakes and spasms, and she loses sight of his ever-watchful eyes when she arches her neck, the orgasm ripping through her in high tidal waves.

The last thing she sees before he kisses her is the provocative way he ascends up her body and his mouth wet from the things he'd just done to her.

* * *

He hasn't needed to think about forms of birth control in a long time.

Even in the last years he and Kathy were still together, sex was few and far between. It wasn't that he didn't want sex. He wanted to bed his wife, make love to her. But between kids and work and the miles that had grown between them over the years, it just didn't happen that often.

Olivia hadn't faltered in her perceptiveness of him. She assured him she was on birth control, told him if he didn't have any condoms there were some in her purse, but she trusted him.

She wanted to feel _all_ of him.

He opted for a condom in his nightstand, in a pack he had bought on a whim once his divorce was finalized. Perhaps he subconsciously bought them to encourage himself to go out again. Whatever the reason had been – it had worked.

Need blooms inside of him again. His stubble scrapes along the underside of her breast as he leisurely tends to her body. The longer he teases her, the more wound up she gets. The price of his pace may be his grip on reality, but he wholly enjoys the whimpers of his name she lets out.

His length makes intimate contact with Olivia, and it tears a moan from both of them. He slides across her clit – once, twice, and sits back on his heels to line himself up with her core. She nods to him when he looks at her, and he slowly begins to slip inside of her.

Elliot's hands grip her thighs, holding her open to him. Inch by blessed inch he enters her, and he watches her face contort as she stretches around him. The list of women he's been with isn't particularly long, but none of them have felt like Olivia does. She's tight as hell on him, and he closes his eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling of having this incredible woman beneath him.

"Fuck," he hears her groan.

He has the sudden urge to quit his job. This, just this could sustain him. Between her thighs, he is a fucking king among men.

Elliot hauls her long, tanned legs onto his shoulders then and begins to move. At first, he uses the same gradual pace, but he feels her nails digging into his lower back, urging him to fuck her the way he really wants to. "I can take it," Olivia moans.

He's quick to grab her hands, letting her legs fall around his waist as he pins her arms above her head. His cock pistons into her harder, and Olivia whimpers delectably into his mouth when he kisses her. He doesn't allow himself to think about how well her hands fit with his. His focus is solely on her.

Elliot nips at her bottom lip, which is already swollen from the intensity of his mouth on hers tonight. A sense of pride flourishes inside him – knowing wherever she goes for the next few days, she will wear the mark of him. His lips pay close attention to a spot just beneath her ear, and she gasps out his name when his teeth graze the spot. "You're so wet for me, fuck—" he grunts, listening to the slick sound of his length hitting into her.

When he lets go of her hands, he uses his mobility to kiss and nip at every inch of her skin that he can. He's up on his knees again, his thumb brushing over her lips before she smiles and takes it into her mouth. Olivia sucks and twirls her tongue around his digit, the vibration of her moans sending waves of pleasure through his body.

Every moan that falls from her lips is a blessing and a curse. She's taking his cock as if her body was made for it, and every thrust reaffirms that there's no other woman on earth that could bring him the pleasure she is.

He starts to imagine a life where he fucks Olivia regularly. Maybe even dates her. He'd get her in his squad car, fuck her with his fingers before sending her back to her precinct. She'd remember him, think of him while she's working a case into the night. They'd make it work.

Eventually, in a heated twist of legs and lips, she manages to flip them over. She doesn't ride him hard and fast like he had expected her to. Instead, she takes it slower, her movements deliberate as she guides his hands over her body. He likes the way she knows what she wants and isn't afraid to go after it.

"Didn't think you were the type to let a woman ride you," she moans between passes of her hips.

"I'm not." Elliot's abs flex when he sits up, and they start to move together. His arms wrap around her, holding her against him as she rolls her hips unhurriedly.

Above him, Olivia runs her fingers through the thick curls of her hair, pushing it back from her face. He lets his hands roam over her back and explore the soft olive skin he finds there.

Every part of her reminds him of just the caliber of woman he has in his arms. He's never thought he had a discernible type when it came to women. Perhaps he'd been wrong all along – the curves, the onyx eyes, the dark hair are all things that scratch an itch he never knew he had. He could fuck her for hours, days even.

He fully intends to, if she'll let him.

There is power in control, but tonight they share it. Her nails scratch at his shoulders, and he growls in response, using his grip on her to pull her down as he thrusts into her. Elliot watches her quickly unravel: the sudden change in tempo and added friction quickly has her breaths coming in short, desperate pants.

His mouth easily traps her nipple, and he works it tirelessly with his tongue until he feels her whole body clenching around him. He presses his forehead to her chest when he follows her, giving himself over to the endless pleasure Olivia provides.

_Yeah,_ he thinks. _She's my type._


End file.
